


The Case of the Golden Beads

by potentiallyAWKWARD



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiallyAWKWARD/pseuds/potentiallyAWKWARD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This... just happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John stood just outside the bathroom, arguing with himself. Yes, he did have to piss very badly, any yes, Sherlock had walked in on John in the shower before for more trivial things than bathroom emergencies. Plus, to be fair, Sherlock had been in there for nearly half an hour.

It was the only bathroom in the flat, damn it, and he paid just as much rent as Sherlock did. It was both of their bathrooms.

But it was an unspoken taboo to walk in on someone in the bathroom, wasn't it. Bathrooms are... private. Besides, he didn't find the thought of Sherlock listening to John piss while he was scrubbing himself very appealing.

This all took place in John's head over the course of about 1.38 seconds. There was no other option, unless relieving yourself in the sink was considered decent. John didn't consider it decent.

So after less than two seconds of thought John silently opened the bathroom door. He didn't need Sherlock to know he was in there, even though the git would probably figure it out just by looking at the creases in his jeans or something improbable (John had learned that with Sherlock Holmes nothing was impossible.)

John padded over to the toilet, grateful that Sherlock never put the lid down. Not that he had any reason to; he didn't have a girlfriend or a fiancée or a wife. He quietly unzipped his trousers, glad that the water pounding on the tile floor was so loud.

But not, it turned out, louder than Sherlock.

As John tilted his head back in silent relief, he heard a small noise from behind the shower door. It sounded like a whimper- was Sherlock hurt? Had he somehow fallen without John hearing?

He froze, listening. Yes, Sherlock was breathing heavily, John could hear that now. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath and then groaned and that's when John knew.

It took everything in him not to gasp.

Sherlock was wanking in the shower! Sherlock bloody Holmes, who found emotion so appalling and had never shown interest in anyone, was getting himself off.

John hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants and pulled up his trousers, biting his lip and creeping over to the bathroom door.

He slowly reached his hand out and just as his fingers brushed against the cool doorknob, another sound came from the shower-

"Fuckkkk." The single word, a breathless groan, in Sherlock's deep baritone voice. John felt a jolt go up his entire body and his cock twitched uncomfortably.

Then he yanked the door open, closed it as quickly and silently as possible, and ran to the kitchen. John turned on the sink, head bowed in case Sherlock came. Came out. Of the shower, that is. His face was searing and red as he rinsed his soapy hands off, wiping them hastily on the green towel to his right and turning to go up to his room before-

"If you think you can just sneak out, you're wrong."

John chuckled nervously, turning quickly to the bathroom door. He situated his hands, trying to cover his half-tented crotch. Sherlock had one towel secured firmly around his waist and another he was running over his black curls. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "I believe you agreed to making pancakes for us."

"When was this?"

"Yesterday."

John laughed. "You cock, I was out of town yesterday."

Sherlock grinned. "Well, I said that you should make pancakes, and I heard no dissent. Therefore-" He waved his hand impatiently in the general direction of the stove.

John sighed as he got out the pan, hoping it sounded irritated instead of relieved. Even if Sherlock knew John had heard him, they weren't having that discussion. Yet.

~~~

John sighed, scowling at his laptop screen. His blog had been getting more hate recently, and one particular comment was bothering him.

'bloody fag should just get it in the arse and stop wanking on his keyboard, that's the only way something this bad could be written'

He didn't mind that his writing was criticized but the derogatory language was upsetting, let alone completely untrue. He obviously liked girls, how many times did he have to say it? Yeah, maybe Sherlock tossing off earlier had him a bit hot, but he didn't have any feelings for his flat mate... he just needed to get laid.

"So?"

John jumped, broken out of his reverie. "So what?"

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, looking intensely at John. "So, I know you walked in on me this morning."

John cleared his throat, closing his laptop and setting it aside. "What do you mean?"

"You walked in on me masturbating in the shower. I heard the door open, I heard you urinate, and then you left rather quickly. Did I make you uncomfortable?"

John felt his face heat up; there was no way he could deny it now, of course he'd walked in on Sherlock. "I was bloody mortified, Sherlock. I don't expect to walk in on people wanking when I take a piss, so yeah, I was uncomfortable."

Sherlock's eyes were intense and he leaned forward. "I was in the privacy of our bathroom, taking a shower. I shouldn't need to keep myself in check when social rules dictate I be left alone anyway. But regardless, that's not what I meant."

John swallowed. Shit, he could see through this act. Sherlock knew that John had gotten off on it, going up to his room as soon as decently possible and having a good, guilt-ridden wank himself. "I don't... what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you. You're already unintelligent enough as it is. I could see your erection from a mile away when I walked in the kitchen."

"I- it's not- no," John stammered, face going red again. Jesus, could he be more obvious? "That wasn't- um. That was unrelated."

Even he knew it was an awful lie. Sherlock barked out a laugh, lifting his feet and turning so he was laying on the couch. "That's the best lie you could come up with?"

John huffed indignantly. "Shut up, Sherlock. You're such a prick. It's not like I have... feelings for you. It's a natural reaction."

"Then why were you so keen to lie about it?"

John stood suddenly, face flaming. "I'm not putting up with this! I let you do whatever you want all the time. Fingers in the microwave, hearts in the sink- remember the time you put a penis in the coffee pot? I'm so patient with you! Not this time."

John grabbed his coat and stormed out of the flat, not sure if he was more embarrassed or angry. The arrogant cock was just pushing John's buttons and he'd had enough.

He hailed a cab and yanked the door open. "Take me to the bar down the block. Quickly." John grated out to the cabbie.

~~~

John stumbled up the last step, narrowly avoiding falling on his face. He grunted, slowly making his to the living room door and pulling open the door.

Sherlock was laying on the couch, hands steepled as if in prayer. He glanced up at John before closing his eyes again. "One too many Jack Daniels?"

John pointed his index finger accusingly at his flat mate. "No, don't you deduce me! I have things to say! Ipmor- important things!"

Sherlock sighed, sitting up and opening his blue grey eyes. "John, you're drunk. We can talk tomorrow when you're reasonable."

John snorted, stumbling over to his chair and plopping down. "What about you? When you're reasonabon- reasonable? Because that's NEVER."

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "I am plenty reasonable, John. Reasonable enough for both of us, luckily for you."

John closed his eyes and rubbed his face, hard enough to make stars bloom behind his eyes when his knuckles came in contact with them. "Quit talking so much. It's exhausting to listen to. Can't you say anything like a regular person?"

Sherlock stood, face going from paper white to bright pink within seconds. "John, I've sat here waiting for you for four hours!" he shouted. "I was so anxious about this conversation I had to put on two nicotine patches. I'm done waiting for you! This ENTIRE thing was staged to get you to realize I AM NOT A ROBOT. I HAVE FLESH AND BLOOD AND SEXUAL DESIRES LIKE ANYONE and damn it, I want you!"

John sat up suddenly, not feeling quite so drunk anymore. "You... what?"

Sherlock shifted his feet, chest heaving and eyes wide. He looked like a deer caught in headlights; an uncommon expression on the detective. "I shouldn't have said that. Never mind. I'm off to bed."

John stood suddenly and grabbed Sherlock by the upper arm. "No, wait. You knew I would walk in on you?"

Sherlock inhaled sharply, looking down at their point of contact. "Of course," he finally muttered, eyes flitting up to John's nervously. "I've logged your bathroom routine in my Mind Palace. Comes in handy."

John's jaw twitched at he filed that under his Things To Talk About Later compartment. "But... you have feelings for me then?"

Sherlock swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Feelings? I try to avoid feelings at all cost..." He paused, eyes vulnerable and open and bottomless. "Of course I have feelings for you, John Watson."

Maybe it was the booze running through his system. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't so much as held hands with anyone in over three weeks. Maybe it was because he was relieved that his feelings were actually reciprocated. Whatever the reason, John leaned forward and, without thinking, pressed his lips firmly to Sherlock's.

After several seconds, John pulled back, eyes closed and breathing heavily. "I thought you'd never say that."

Sherlock chuckled breathlessly. "I've said it in all ways but actual speech."

"Well, I'm thick and you're not good at subtlety. Too... subtle."

John opened his eyes and was surprised to see Sherlock staring at him, eyes unguarded and full of adoration.

"That was my first kiss."

John cocked an eyebrow. Slowly, he leaned forward and ran his lips gently along Sherlock's jawline, trailing them up to his mouth and parting his lips ever so slightly. Sherlock did the same, his body practically melting into John's as his hands found the ex-soldier's cheeks.

John slowly, cautiously trailed his tongue along Sherlock's bottom lip, attentive for a sign that he didn't like it. On the contrary, Sherlock sighed gently into his mouth, parting his lips further for easier access.

John smiled, pulling back again. "And that was your second. I don't want to take it too fast with you. Besides, I already have enough to regret when I wake up."

Sherlock smiled sadly, running his slender fingers through the doctor's short blonde hair. "You should get some sleep. We can talk in the morning. Maybe have a proper snog."

John chuckled, pecking Sherlock on the lips. "Night, Sherlock."


	2. Chapter 2

John woke up with a pounding headache and a faint sense of regret. He laid in his bed, eyes closed, for several seconds before heaving himself up to a sitting position and cracking his eyelids open to the bright morning sun streaming through his window.

He glanced at his alarm clock. 9:49. His lips twitched when he spotted a large glass of water and a tablet sitting next to his lamp. Thoughtful, Sherlock.

He reached for the glass and took a large swig before taking the tablet, hoping it was strong and would kick in quickly.

John groaned, slowly standing and making his way to the door. The hammers inside his head were insistent this morning. He hobbled down the stairs and into the bathroom, running a toothbrush over his teeth before starting the shower.

Just as he had taken off his t-shirt and pants, the door banged open.

"Morning! I put on a pot of coffee, do you want-?" Sherlock's bright eyes snapped shut, a brilliant blush creeping up his neck.

"Jesus!" John mumbled, going pink himself and not-so-discreetly covering his manhood. "Yeah, I'll take a cup. Thanks."

Sherlock's eyes opened his eyes suddenly. They were now dark and promising. "You're-" he began, voice rough with arousal. He cleared his throat. "You're welcome."

Under his hands John felt his cock stir hopefully. He cleared his throat as well. "Um. Well, I'm going to take a shower."

Sherlock's mouth slowly rolled into a sensuous smile. His eyes were still intense and boring into John's. "Enjoy." He snapped the door shut and John sighed, idly pumping his now half-hard cock.

After standing there for a moment, John started, remembering the running shower, and stepping in. He let out an indecent moan as the almost unbearably hot water streamed down his chest.

Without thinking, he gripped his now painfully hard cock and squeezed it gently, running it back and forth along his shaft. Shit, it felt good.

Sherlock had stepped in on John naked. He had become aroused, maybe even hard. Maybe he was out in the hallway, just outside the bathroom door, face red as he fucked his own cock, biting his lip to keep quiet.

John let out a small moan, running his thumb over his already leaking tip. This wouldn't take long at all.

Sherlock had been wanking yesterday, most likely thinking of John. Did he imagine John taking that perfect ass of his? Or perhaps shoving his cock down his throat, his Cupid's bow lips forming a perfect circle as he swallowed around John?

John whimpered, already so close. His cock was twitching in his rapidly moving fist. Fuck, he was like a horny teenager all over again.

Sherlock was in this very spot yesterday, crying out with pleasure. And- shit- maybe he came so hard he saw stars. That would be nothing- right there, yes- compared to how John would make him feel, cock buried in his arse, pounding him relentlessly-

"Fuck," John hissed, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He let out a long, keening out moan, leaning his forehead against the tiled wall as his legs shook with the sheer force of it. Less than five minutes ago he'd been fully clothed. Jesus, what was Sherlock doing to him?

After several minutes of John just standing there, catching his breath, he finally came to his senses. He actually needed a wash and Sherlock was waiting for him with a cup of coffee.

~~~

"Have a nice shower?"

John looked up, cheeks heating up, as he snapped the bathroom door closed behind him. He gripped his towel closer to his waist and stared at Sherlock, who was smirking at him from the kitchen sink.

"Just as good as your's was yesterday," John replied rather boldly he thought, clearing his throat.

It was Sherlock's turn to blush. "Ah. So quite enjoyable then."

John smirked. "Quite." He went upstairs to put on some clothes before coming back down for coffee. "So are we going to talk about last night, or...?"

Sherlock set two steaming cups of coffee down on the kitchen table and sat, indicating for John to do the same. "I suppose we should. It was rather a big deal."

John fought the urge to deny it, but he knew better. Of course it was a bloody big deal, they'd had a bit of a snog and admitted feelings for each other.

"Was that really your first kiss?"

Sherlock blushed, blinking innocently at John. "Yes. It was well worth the wait."

"Oh." John cleared his throat, quite pleased with himself. "Right. You said you knew I would walk in on you. Why-?"

Sherlock sipped his coffee, buying himself a few more seconds. "You've probably noticed I'm not good at talking about... emotions. Feelings. What most people would regard as the 'important' things. And this... this is the most important thing to me. My relationship with you, that is. I didn't want to mess it up by saying the wrong thing, which I did anyway, but I decided to let you make the first move. Which you didn't. It was a very poorly enacted plan on my part."

John's fingers were still tingly at the 'our relationship is the most important thing to me' bit. "You could've just said... I dunno..."

Sherlock smirked, running his forefinger along the rim of the cup. "What, 'every time I orgasm I picture you pleasuring me in various scenarios'? I think that might have been a bit too strong of a come on."

John felt the blood rush to both his cheeks and his cock. Jesus, it'd only been ten minutes since he came in the shower. "Unless you're trying to get me to take you right over this table, I'd suggest you stop talking about that sort of stuff."

Sherlock's mouth popped open and a blush slowly crept up his neck. His pupils dilated ever so slightly as he sucked in a deep breath. "Ohh." It was an almost indecent moan. "You wouldn't...?"

John smiled, his cock twitching at Sherlock's arousal. Jesus, he needed to built up stamina if this was to be a thing. "I would. I'd pull down your trousers, lick that pretty bum of yours until you screamed, and then fuck you until you couldn't cum any more."

Sherlock groaned, eyes squeezing shut and a look of pure ecstasy flashing across his features. "Yes, John. Right now."

John stood suddenly, abandoning his untouched coffee and bending over Sherlock. Sherlock looked up from his chair, uneasy and aroused and unsure of what came next. John grabbed the front of Sherlock's white shirt and yanked up so Sherlock was standing, then pulled his face down. He roughly pressed his lips to Sherlock's, grinding his stiff crotch against the other man's. The detective gasped, giving John a chance to slip his tongue in and claim Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock ran his long hands down John's back before reaching between them. His nimble fingers fumbled with John's fly before he finally got his trousers open.

John pulled back, an absolutely predatory look in his eyes. "Bedroom. Yours. Closer," he managed as they fumbled backwards, surprisingly not bumping into anything.

Finally, they made it to Sherlock's bed. John pushed the detective onto it, quickly taking off his jumper and trousers.

Sherlock took in a quick, sharp breath, watching John hungrily. John crawled up onto the bed, leaning down and kissing Sherlock's neck.

"I want to see you touch yourself before I do anything," John breathed, gently sucking on the spot just above his collarbone.

Sherlock was squirming beneath John, panting. "Touch... me," he groaned. "John, please... Make me feel... aah..."

"Take off your clothes," John growled, rolling off the detective.

Sherlock nearly fell off the bed in his eagerness to obey. In record time he had unbuttoned his shirt, yanked off his trousers and then his black pants.

John eyes him hungrily. "Beautiful," he breathed.

Sherlock blushed, his alabaster skin tinged pink. "I want to... can you...?"

John smiled. He'd never, in all his years with Sherlock, seen the detective so at a loss for words. It was rather endearing.

John lifted his bum off the bed and pulled off his red pants. "Come on," he smirked. "I believe I said I wouldn't touch you until you touched yourself."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Okay..." He bent over and pulled a small bottle of lubricant out of his drawer, squirting a fair amount into his palm. "How should I-?"

John scooted over and patted the bed. "Make yourself comfortable. Pretend I'm not here. What do you think about when you're...?"

Sherlock slowly climbed onto his bed, spreading his legs a bit and resting his head against his pillow. He rubbed his hands together, spreading and warming the lube until he was satisfied. Slowly, he pumped his stiff red cock, mouth opening in silent pleasure. "I like to think... About you... Gagging me with your..." His eyes opened as he gasped, hips bucking as he jacked himself off. "C-cock- and cumming- God... on my face-!"

John had to close his eyes and breathe deeply through his nose to refrain from doing just what Sherlock was describing. "Jesus... What else?"

"Yanking my hair and... smacking my... arse... before you- aagh- fuck me!"

The last words came out as a high-pitched keen as Sherlock flung his arm over his eyes, thrusting into his fist furiously.

John felt his cock leaking and he hadn't even touched himself. He hadn't been hard so many times in twenty four hours since he was in college. "Stop. Stop," John growled, pinning the younger man's arms above his head. Sherlock's eyes snapped open, wild and dark. He had been closer than John had thought.

Sherlock whimpered, hips thrusting several times in desperate search for friction. "I need to," Sherlock panted, tossing his head. "John, please, just... Let me..."

John climbed on top of Sherlock, gently biting his earlobe.

"You. Have. Me. So. Fucking. Hard. I. Want. To. Fuck. You. So. Fucking. Bad," John breathed into his ear, thrusting his cock against Sherlock's with every word.

"J-ohn," Sherlock groaned, rubbing his cock against John's frantically. "I'm so close. It's... Please... Fuck me-"

"Have you ever sucked a cock before?"

Sherlock's head fell back, sharp cheekbones going pink in his arousal. "No."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," John smirked, rearranging so his mouth was over Sherlock's prick and vice versa. Without so much as a word Sherlock took John's entire throbbing cock into his mouth. His throat constricted as he gagged, but impressively he didn't pull back, just sucked. "Fuckkk..." John moaned, trying not to thrust into his mouth.

John licked a stripe up Sherlock's aching cock, getting a whimper out of the detective that John could feel in his stomach. Slowly, he wrapped his lips around Sherlock's head and sucked once, tasting his salty precum. Jesus, he was big. Not as thick as John was, but a solid 9 inches at least. Slowly, hoping he'd retained some of his military days expertise, he took in Sherlock's cock.

Just when he thought he couldn't take any more his nose bumped Sherlock's scrotum. Thank God, he thought, eyes streaming as he fought his gag reflex.

He closed his eyes, mentally steeling himself, before swallowing around Sherlock. Sherlock's hips snapped up as he cried out around a mouthful of John's cock, his hot semen pulsing deep into John's throat. John gagged and pulled back, coughing, as Sherlock continued to spurt. Jesus, you'd have thought he hadn't cum in years.

John eagerly licked his cock, lapping up every drop he could reach. It was definitely saltier than he remembered but not unpleasant. He remembered the guys in the army always commenting on how eager he was to swallow. Perhaps it had some truth to it.

John was pulled out of his quick reverie when Sherlock, ever the fast learner, swallowed John's cock. "Fuck!" John cried, giving half a thrust before remembering himself and stopping. "Oh, shit," he groaned, very close. "Stop, stop."

Sherlock pulled back, coughing, immediately. "What, did I do something wrong?" he managed hoarsely. "I tried to do what you did but I couldn't quite remember- I could try again, if you-?"

John rearranged, pressing his lips to Sherlock's. He could taste his own precum in the detective's mouth, and he could only imagine what Sherlock was tasting. For some reason the thought spurred him on, and he pushed his tongue into Sherlock's mouth.

After several minutes John pulled away, breathing heavily. "You git, if you would've continued I wouldn't have been able to do it."

"Do what?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide and pupils blown.

"Lay down and you'll see," John smirked, taking his own cock in his hand and rapidly stroking it. Jesus, this was hotter than he'd imagined, Sherlock watching him wanking with those greedy, eager eyes... He couldn't wait to see them when John was buried deep in Sherlock's arsehole, cock shuddering as he came- "Fuck," John cried out, hips bucking as he came all over Sherlock's face.

Some drops hit his eyelids before John could fix his aim, targeting the detective's open mouth and tongue, also splattering his cheeks and chin for good measure. Shit, how did he still have any semen left after the shower? Sherlock was really turning up his libido.

John collapsed sideways, next to Sherlock. "Jesus. Jesus Christ," he painted. "So eager... God. Can't wait to fuck you properly."

Sherlock hummed in agreement as he rummaged through his drawer with his eyes closed, finally pulling out a white handkerchief. He wiped it across his face quickly before throwing it aside, turning onto his side towards John.

"How'd I do? I felt as though I was a little sloppy, I'll need to practice relaxing my gag reflex, and I think my teeth got in the way a few times. Also, I didn't know what to do with my tongue-"

"Shut up," John mumbled sleepily before going under completely.


	3. Chapter 3

"Have you ever came untouched?"

John choked on his cup of tea, quickly setting it back in his saucer. "What?"

Sherlock looked up from his laptop matter-of-factly. "Have you ever ejaculated without physical stimulation to your penis?"

John cocked an eyebrow, clearing his throat. He hoped his face wasn't as pink as it felt. "You mean, like, a prostate orgasm? Yeah. Two or three times. I prefer to top."

Sherlock blinked once at John before looking back down to his computer screen. 

"Why do you ask?" John finally sighed, realizing Sherlock would not elaborate on his own.

"Because I want to try it. With you. I want to see if I can cum just from you... stimulating my prostate," he finished, flushing.

"You know, you can say the word 'fuck'. We're both adults," John smirked.

Sherlock looked up again, slightly impatient. "Yes, I'm aware, John. Certain words stir memories for me, some stronger than others. Unless you want me to rip off my clothes and jack off in the living room, I'm going to refrain from saying it."

"But I do," John finally replied, resituating himself in his chair.

"You do what?"

"Want you to rip off your clothes and jack off. Better yet, I'll rip off your clothes and jack you off. Or, I could give you a prostate orgasm?"

Sherlock sniffed, unable to conceal the rush of blood to his face (but thankfully the rush of blood to his crotch was undetectable.) "You're just saying that to make me uncomfortable."

John shrugged. "Guess you'll never know unless you do it."

After a several second staring contest Sherlock stood and yanked off his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, thankful he'd gone commando. "There," he huffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest. 

John smiled and stood slowly, sauntering over to Sherlock. "Look at you. I say the word and you take off all your clothes like a slut. Are you a slut, Sherlock?" He said the offending word slowly, pronouncing every letter individually.

Sherlock shuddered, huffing again. "Hardly. I've never even been penetr- aagh!"

John smacked his bare arse again, extremely happy with the response. Thank God Sherlock had mentioned that he wanted this, or he never would have dared to touch Sherlock like this. "Do you want me to smack you again?" he purred.

Sherlock's entire body twitched. "Yes," he finally sighed.

"And what kind of blokes want other blokes to smack their bums?" John pressed, squeezing his arse cheek painfully hard.

Sherlock inhaled sharply, pressing his bum into John's hands. "S-sluts," he cried out finally.

"And what kind of bloke gets off on smacking bums?" John continued, pressing the front of his straining trousers against the back of Sherlock's thigh.

"I don't-

"The one who is about to fuck you senseless," John murmured into Sherlock's ear, and the detective sucked in a deep breath.

"Oh," he rumbled, head tilting back. "You meant it?"

John ran his mouth up Sherlock's spine. "Of course I did. I wouldn't lie to you just to get you out of your pants."

"That's a first," Sherlock remarked, earning another sharp smack on the arse.

"But before I do anything, I need to know what you like, and what you don't. I know you're a virgin, and that's perfectly fine, but you have to have some preference. Do you like to do anything when you touch yourself?"

Sherlock's back went ramrod straight. "I don't..." he began slowly. "Up until last night, I'd never actually..."

"That was your first time cumming?" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock snorted. "Of course not."

"But you just said you've never touched yourself," John said hesitantly.

Sherlock's cheeks reddened. "My mental capacities are much higher than most peoples'. Physical stimulus is unnecessary for me to achieve orgasm, and ejaculation only occurs occasionally. I don't need to touch myself because I can manipulate my brain to produce the pleasurable chemicals found during orgasm."

John blinked. "So you use your imagination?"

Sherlock shot him a disgusted look. "To put it very, very simply, yes."

"Well. Okay then- right." John cleared his throat, going from collected and professional to completely off kilter. "Well, my question still stands. What do you think you would like in the bedroom?"

Sherlock glanced down at his still prominent (and bare) arousal. "I'm up for anything at the moment. I think rational conversation is off the table at the moment."

"Right then. Tea, then we'll talk. Put on your robe."

~~~

"I suppose bondage has always intrigued me... sensory deprivation... punishment, edging, orgasm delay and denial, roleplay, domination..."

He said it so simply, as if reading off a shopping list. John cleared his throat.

"Those all sound... manageable. How about actual sex? Do you like giving or receiving blowjobs? Or anal sex?"

Sherlock looked sheepishly up from his mug. "I don't have enough data to make that judgement."

"Well, what do you think about when you're getting off?" John asked exasperatedly. This was much more of a production than he'd expected.

"I told you last night. Giving oral sex and receiving anal sex. But last night's activities proved more than satisfactory."

John rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you liked getting sucked off then?"

"Well, it would be slightly more pleasurable if..." Sherlock blushed. "if... I could be more rough with it. I want to... fuck your mouth."

John closed his eyes, barely suppressing a moan. Jesus Christ, his baritone voice could call him to the depths of hell and he'd come marching. "I could handle that. However rough you get, I've had rougher. A bisexual man of my size in the military... you get the idea."

"I would very much like to test that. Sounds like a challenge to me." Sherlock smirked, leaning forward. "But not now. I believe you promised to penetr- all right, fuck me."

"I could do it. The bondage and stuff. One of my girlfriends was really into that and I got quite good at it," John stated. "We could try it... When you're more comfortable with the whole thing, that is. We'll go nice and slow the first few times."

"Do you like being Dominant? Or did you just tolerate it?" Sherlock asked, slightly nervously. John smiled internally at his hesitance. Not often was Sherlock caught in such a position.

"I very much enjoyed it. More than I would have liked. But I'm willing to try again," John admitted. "Well then, are you ready? If we sit around talking much longer I might pull out my hair."

Sherlock smirked. "I gave myself an enema yesterday, so there's nothing to worry about there. I'm ready."

John stood, grabbing Sherlock's hand and pressing his mouth tenderly to the detective's. It was a slow, passionate, almost shy kiss (considering it was one of Sherlock's first kisses, this was understandable.) John ran one hand slowly down Sherlock's back, letting it rest just above the curve of his buttocks. The other hand wrapped around his black curls, tugging ever so gently. Sherlock moaned, breaking away to gasp for air.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John beat him to it: "Stop thinking. For once, just feel and go with the flow. I promise, I won't hurt you."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "Of course I know that. It's just... Never mind. It's silly. I'll try to turn my brain to hibernate."

John frowned slightly. Sherlock's voice was unsure and tinged with sadness. He'd have to ask later, because obviously Sherlock was unwilling to talk about it now.

John mouthed gently across Sherlock's neck, pausing to nip gently at his collarbone. "Let's go to your bedroom."

~~~

"Do you have condoms?" John finally asked as he came up from air.

"Why would I have condoms?" Sherlock replied, panting. He'd have to see how long he could go without breathing while kissing sometime. Without John knowing, of course.

"Then I'll be back in a mo'," John sighed, heaving himself off the bed. Sherlock smirked, stomach flipping, when he saw the tent in John's trousers. At least he was doing it right, it seemed.

When John walked out, Sherlock's head fell back, pulling up all the information about sex he knew.

Herpes, AIDS, and STDs he quickly pushed away. John wouldn't... Of course not. He wouldn't be that careless.

He closed his eyes and pulled up all the porn he'd watched. It seemed to him most people enjoyed being vocal and that the rougher the sex, the better. Sherlock felt himself shudder at the thought, whether in excitement or nerves he wasn't sure.

"Back," John announced, slightly out of breath. Sherlock's eyes snapped open just as John pulled off his trousers eagerly (leaving on his pants.) Next came his jumper and the his t-shirt.

Sherlock reached up and began to unbutton his shirt, but John stopped him. "Ah ah, that's my job."

Sherlock felt his cheeks heat up. That sounded strangely possessive and it somehow pleased Sherlock. Already he realized he had sorely underestimated the pleasure that would be involved in sexual activities.

John crawled onto the bed and over to Sherlock, easily popping the first three shirt buttons open with only one hand. Perhaps John was more versed in seducing men then he'd let on, seeing as the shirt buttons would be opposite for women and thus it would take more practice to open men's?

"Aah," Sherlock gasped as John sucked gently on his exposed collarbone.

"Stop thinking," John mumbled, smirking up at the detective. His eyes were dark and bottomless and he could see why all the women fell for him, with his 'come fuck me' gaze and-

"Yes," he replied breathlessly. "I'll try. Just... enough of this." His hand fluttered, indicating to John and himself. "I just want... want..."

"Say it and I will," John smirked, eyes going impossibly darker. Bloody hell.

"I want you to fuck me," Sherlock nearly whimpered, suddenly feeling very small and unprepared.

"Alright then," John announced as if he had just made a business deal. "But there is some preparation involved. I'm not skipping any of that."

Sherlock nodded and shook his head at the same time, more flustered than he could recall ever being. What on earth was getting into him? Where was the cool, calm detective that solved murders without even a flinch?

John made quick business of Sherlock's shirt and trousers, pausing briefly on his pants. "The more aroused you are, the easier the beginning will be," he explained (as if he needed an excuse to touch Sherlock.)

Sherlock nodded his understanding, not trusting his suddenly dry mouth. Yesterday had been different, more frantic and raw. They hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights, so it had been rather dark. For a moment Sherlock feared that upon taking off his pants, John would laugh and tell him the whole thing was some big joke. The thought made him queasy so he pushed it away quickly.

Slowly, as if unwrapping a particularly exciting Christmas present, John peeled off Sherlock's pants. Sherlock shut his eyes just before John let out a small chuckle.

"What?" asked Sherlock frantically, stomach flipping. He didn't dare open his eyes lest he see John holding back laughter at some secret joke at his expense.

"It is a sin," John declared, "to have gone this long without letting anyone touch your prick. It's bloody perfect."

Sherlock flushed, eyes cracking open. "You're just saying that."

John shook his head eagerly, reaching for the lube. "No I'm not. It's long and thick, but not too thick. I've seen blokes with twice your ego and half your size. Anyone would kill to fuck a cock like this."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but before he could get anything out, John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's cock and squeezed up. The detective groaned, head falling back.

"Alright, you win," Sherlock mumbled, neck and cheeks going pink. "Just don't stop doing whatever that is."

John chuckled. "If that's what you want..." Again he tugged in Sherlock's cock, this time a bit faster. "Again? Or do you want me to suck you off again? I'm more prepared this time, I'll let you fuck my throat."

Sherlock's entire body shuddered. "Oh, God, yes. Please suck my cock. John, please."

"So responsive," John smirked, situating himself so his mouth was right over the detective's cock. "You might be hoarse by the time we're through today."

Without another word, John popped his prick into his mouth like a lolly, bobbing on just the tip. Swirling his head in his mouth, enjoying Sherlock's moans.

He took him deeper, relaxing his throat as he remembered. Slowly he took in his entire cock, breathing heavily through his nose so he wouldn't need to get a breath.

Taking John's stillness as a cue, Sherlock hesitantly thrust his hips up. He found little resistance, so he did it once more, harder this time.

"Shit," he moaned, squeezing his eyes closed. If he looked now and saw John's mouth wrapped around his cock, he would cum on the spot, and how embarrassing would that be?

John moaned into Sherlock's cock, and felt several drops of precum slide down his throat. He moaned again, bobbing on Sherlock's cock rapidly.

"Fucking- John!" Sherlock cried. "Unless you want me to- shit! John!"

Quickly John spat Sherlock out. "I want you to fuck my mouth, Sherlock," he said hoarsely, immediately swallowing Sherlock again.

Far past the clarity of mind to argue, Sherlock did just as he was told, lifting his hips rapidly and reaching one hand down to hold John's head in place. Fuck, this felt good... Why hadn't he ever let anyone do this to him before?

With one last sharp thrust he cried out, cumming deep down John's throat. John swallowed and swallowed, milking him of every drop.

Sherlock's head was spinning as he came down from his orgasm, trying hard to regain his breath and return the favor to John. He'd endure whatever pain it took to guarantee another blow job like that.

John was sitting back on his heels, breathing heavily. He had saliva trailing down the corner of his mouth to his chin. Just the sight of him so... used, for lack of a better word, was nearly enough to have Sherlock ready for round two.

"That was. Um." Sherlock cleared his throat, quite embarrassed. "Sorry if I was a bit rough, I got carried away."

John leaned forward, mouth twisted into a smirk. "You're not the only kinky one in the room, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh." Sherlock wasn't sure what else to say. John had seemed so... vanilla. He supposed everyone must have their own thing.

"Now, for my real job."

Again, John squirted lube onto his hands, this time more than before. He rubbed his palms together, warming it, until he was pleased.

Slowly, his first finger traced Sherlock's arsehole. To his embarrassment, it closed up like a clam in its shell.

"It's okay," John mumbled, stroking Sherlock's limp cock again. It twitched. "I know it's strange."

Once again, he ran his finger around Sherlock's arsehole. This time it only twitched, but stayed relaxed. John made a sound of approval.

He repeated the action a few times until Sherlock seemed comfortable, then he slowly pressed in his finger to the first digit.

"Oh," Sherlock gasped, jerking back a bit. "John, no."

John rubbed his thigh comfortingly. "Shh, it's okay, just breathe."

They both held still, holding their breath, until Sherlock finally relaxed minutely. John took this as a go-ahead and slowly pushed his finger in further.

Sherlock hissed but held stock still, entire body stiffening.

"How does it feel?" John asked gently, still rubbing Sherlock comfortingly.

"Like I'm shitting the wrong way," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth. John chuckled.

"It is a strange feeling, isn't it. Don't worry, it'll feel better in a few minutes."

"I assumed."

John exhaled out his nose as way of a laugh, pushing the rest of his first finger in. Sherlock's mouth opened and his fingers gripped the sheets, but he stayed impressively silent.

"There. That's all of it," John stated. "Okay?"

Sherlock nodded tersely.

"Can I move my finger?" John asked after several minutes of adjustment.

Again, a sharp nod. Very, very slowly, John withdrew his finger until it was to the first digit and then slowly moved it back in. John could feel his cock straining angrily against his pants and desperately wanted to replace his finger with his cock but for Sherlock's sake he was taking it slow. Probably slower than necessary, but better safe than sorry.

"Faster?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it. Another nod.

"Sherlock, please talk to me. I want to make sure I'm not hurting you."

"Like a finger up my arse is going to kill me," Sherlock snarked (poorly.) His voice sounded strained but not pained, so John took it as a good sign.

Quite a bit faster than before, John removed his finger to the very tip this time and quickly (relatively) thrust it back in.

"St-!" Sherlock started, then snapped his mouth closed.

John froze. "What? Shit, sorry. I thought..."

Sherlock nodded, eyes closed. "It just feels... Give me just a moment." They laid in silence for a few seconds before Sherlock finally muttered, "Okay. Faster."

John removed his finger slowly, gauging Sherlock's reaction. Slower than before, but still more quickly than at first, he inserted his finger in him, twisting it once it was sheathed. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, legs stiffening.

"Stop?" John asked, stilling.

"No, that's... good," Sherlock mumbled. "Faster."

This continued on for five or so minutes, until Sherlock started using his hips to get John deeper. John rested his other hand in the detective's thigh.

"Ready for another finger?"

Sherlock nodded, neck and face a brilliant pink. Seeing Sherlock like this, vulnerable and needy and at John's mercy, was making him achingly hard. He hadn't even touched himself but he could feel the dampness of his precum on the sheets beneath him.

Slowly, very slowly, John put in his first and middle fingers. Sherlock grunted, throwing his head aside, but lifted his hips to grant easier access all the same.

Once he made it to the second digit, John scissored his fingers slightly, twisting them slowly. "God," Sherlock moaned, a long, drawn out sound that went straight to John's throbbing cock.

He pushed his fingers in further, stilling only when he could go no further. He spread his fingers into a V, getting a muffled cry from Sherlock.

"Fu- uh. More," he keened, lifting his hips eagerly.

John leaned forward and mouthed at Sherlock's half-hard cock. "What do you want?"

Sherlock whimpered, tossing his head back and forth at the stimulus. "You. I want... your cock... please, no, too much," he gasped as John took him into his mouth.

John quickly retreated, nosing at the detective's cock instead. "Soon, love. I want this as much as you do, trust me." He ground his pained cock against Sherlock's calf to prove his point.

Very, very slowly, his third finger slid into Sherlock. He took in a sharp breath and held it until his face was red, finally puffing it out.

"Quickly. Like a bandage," Sherlock grit out. John nodded, steeling himself before thrusting his fingers in. Sherlock cried out, hips arching as he squirmed away only slightly. "Shit, are you trying to kill me?"

John chuckled, kissing his cock gently. "Shut up, it's what you asked for."

Once Sherlock had relaxed a bit, John's hand began to move, slowly at first, and then quickly. The noise Sherlock made when John accidentally brushed his prostate made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up.

"Fucking- right there, oh... yes!"

John felt his cock dribble just from Sherlock's response alone. "You're going to make me soil your sheets. Do you think you're ready?"

"I've been ready for the past ten minutes," Sherlock huffed, squirming violently. "Just do that again."

"What, this?" John gently brushed his prostate again, grinning when Sherlock's back arched off the bed.

"Not your fingers," Sherlock finally managed, sweat beading on his forehead. He uselessly thrust his hips into the air, looking for friction for his straining cock.

"So hard even after that blowjob I just gave you?" John asked, a huff of warm breath on his cock making Sherlock shudder as John leaned forward. "Don't worry, love. I'll make you see stars in a few minutes."

Sherlock's mouth fell open in a silent gasp as John sat up and reached for the lube. He coated his hands, using one to pump his own shaft and the other tracing Sherlock's arsehole.

It took all of his resolve not to fuck into his own hand, he was so hard. The only thing that kept him from it was knowing how much better Sherlock would be, how much tighter and warmer-

Another small stream dribbled out of John's leaking slit. "Are you ready?" John breathed, wiping his hands on the towel he had thankfully thought to grab.

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes as John situated himself over the detective. "I'll go slowly. I know it hurts, I know."

Maddeningly slowly, John pressed the tip of his cock into Sherlock, stilling when he had gone in a few centimetres.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and his hips jerked back. "Oh," he gasped. "John-"

"I know, love." John grit his teeth and closed his eyes. If he kept looking into Sherlock's flushed face and dark, bottomless eyes, he knew he would slip and hurt Sherlock.

Slowly, slowly, he pressed himself into Sherlock, exhaling only when he was completely sheathed. "You're so fucking tight. Jesus," he breathed. "Alright?"

Sherlock exhaled loudly through his nose. "Minute."

John nodded, bowing his head in a desperate attempt to stay completely still. Christ, it was difficult...

"Okay. I'm okay."

"Sure?"

Sherlock nodded, wriggling his bum to emphasize the point. "Come on, it's uncomfortable like this," he whined.

John slowly pulled out, pressing his mouth to Sherlock's only once his tip was the only part remaining inside him. Sherlock kissed him back with equal fervor, tongue trailing his lips.

John slammed his hips forward and Sherlock cried out into his mouth, eyes snapping open. John trailed his lips down the detective's neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses there.

"More?"

"Yes. God... yes."

John smiled into Sherlock's jawline as he pulled back and snapped forward again, barely able to contain the shudder that ran through him at the moan Sherlock made... Besides, he was tighter than anyone he'd ever been with, man or woman... Wouldn't take long at all. He could already feel his orgasm beginning to build in the back of his mind.

Another thrust, this time harder. "Do you like this?" John hissed into Sherlock's ear.

"Y-es," he groaned back, voice breaking with another thrust.

"Like my big cock up your tight arse?"

"Fuck..." Sherlock breathed, head tilting back and face going hot red. "Fuck, John. There."

"Want me to really fuck you properly?"

"Ye- ahhh," he cried out, voice getting higher. "Fucking- yes!"

John bent forward and bit Sherlock's earlobe as his hips slammed into Sherlock's over and over again, an erotic skin-on-skin slapping reverberating around the room. "Going to make you cum so fucking hard. Shit, you're so tight."

"Joh-" Sherlock cried out, eyes flying open. His expression was reminiscent of a man who had just seen the face of God.

John chuckled breathlessly, slamming again and again against Sherlock's prostate. "I'm gonna cum. Tell me-"

"Inside. I need- ohh...?"

Sherlock's mouth fell open into an 'O' and his eyes squeezed shut as he came suddenly and violently, great spurts splattering his stomach and chest. He clenched around John's cock, his insides spasming from the pleasure.

"I'm cumming-" John managed before thrusting one last time (surely that would leave a bruise) and then stilling as he came deep inside the reeling detective.

John pressed his mouth desperately to Sherlock's, his hands curling around Sherlock's black hair as they both came down from their orgasms. He pulled up for air, gasping, and rested his forehead on Sherlock's.

They laid like that for several minutes, panting. Then, just as Sherlock's hands began lazily exploring John's lower back, the doctor broke the silence.

"Well, you came without being touched after all. You can thank me now or later."

Sherlock laughed, and the next thing he remembered was curling up next to John.


End file.
